REBORN ON THE
OMOTE GINZA TRAIL
In the shadowed pockets of the Azumi valley, history tells of Banryu, a Nenbutsu priest, who challenged both nature and himself in pursuit of enlightenment. Garbed in a stark white robe, he wasn't merely climbing Mt Yarigatake; he was ascending towards rebirth. Four attempts deep, with the valley echoing a fierce storm, he sought shelter in a cave's embrace. He emerged, fifty-three days later, fifty-three days of isolation – a forced meditation. His eventual summit was not a mere conquest of elevation but a transformation of the soul.
It was at the tail end of the Omote Ginza Trail when this tale was imparted on me. It resonated – each mountain venture I’ve taken had shades of this struggle, with Omote Ginza echoing the loudest.
Japan’s mountains, with their majestic summits, are places of reverence. You’ll hear the echoes of “Bansai” cascading down Mt Fuji as dawn breaks, marking rites of passage, as the sun gifts the land its first light. And while the pilgrimage once saw devotees cloaked in simple white gowns, today’s seekers don modern attire, clad in Mammot and Scarpa. But the essence remains: ascend impure, descend renewed.
We congregated, a mixed group filled with trepidation and thrill, at the Nakabusa Trailhead. Kaitesan, our guide, a beacon of calm, ushered us through forests painted with hues of larch and Japanese maple. Amid our journey, the gentle chime of bells, hung on backpacks to deter bears – the vegetarian sort, mind you.
“Nippon” or “Nihon,” which literally translated means
“source of the sun.” Lying due East of the Middle Kingdom, the Chinese believed that Japan was literally the “land of the rising sun”.
As Yarigatake’s spear-like peak pierced the horizon, we found respite in the Enzanso Hutte, reminiscing adventures over beers and a backdrop of Japanese gastronomic delight. Slumber came quickly, on tatami mats cushioning dreams of tomorrow’s venture.
The sun’s early call in Japan is relentless. A 4 am wake-up, a brisk climb, and the land bathed in gold.
Japan does not observe Daylight Saving and as such the sun rises at ungodly hours.
Day 3 loomed large, like the climax in an epic novel. With helmets perched precariously on our heads, the task was laid bare: to bridge the chasm between two looming mountain ridges, armed only with the company of a stark metal ladder stretching some 30 meters. It’s the kind of journey that separates the curious from the committed. Vertigo-prone? This might just be your reckoning. After a gruelling 9-hour dance with the elements, Yari stood before us, her peak teasing and elusive. But she’d have to remain a mystery just a tad longer – morning’s light would be our rendezvous.
The trails have tales, with each twist, turn, and ladder bringing us closer to Yarigatake’s peak. Summiting was more than a physical feat; it was a meeting point – past, present, and future converging.
As our expedition wound down, nature’s jacuzzi, the Onsen, beckoned. We sank, letting the warmth wash over weary muscles, much like Banryu, leaving the mountains not just lighter in body but in spirit.
The mountains and their silent tales – they cleanse. They reshape. And, sometimes, they even rebirth.
